What my family mean to me #dosomethingyummy

Did I ever tell you about my family?

Well I was born in the north, or as you may better know it, God’s country.  I am the much longed for baby girl born to my poor suffering mother after she had to endure the  extreme misfortune of initially giving birth to not one but a pair of smelly boys. More

The lies I was told….

Having children has been an eye opener for me.  Finding out Santa was a fabrication in my youth was hard to deal with but really some of the lies I have been told since then regarding children are borderline obscene.

 Take this popular urban myth; ‘your life will be richer when you have your own family’ More

Who’s the Daddy…..

He has been around since the children were born in fact if you inspect his right shoulder you can see indents from my teeth from BB’s labour; he has done the night feeds, he wiped his fair share of dirty bums. 

He struggles with feeding, he dislikes the mess; watching BB squeeze a tomato between thumb and forefinger makes him shudder visibly.  The twins drive him slightly deranged at times and at others he marvels in their intelligence and loves to play in their games. More

I let my family down: One Mum’s heartbreaking story…

I was full of nervous apprehension this morning.  I tried to hide it so the children wouldn’t pick up on the butterflies that were zorbing through my stomach.

I had everything ready the night before, tuna pasta had been made for the kids breakfast, their kit was clean, and their shoes were gleaming. More

Parenting: Every Parents Nightmare…..

Some ruffian has laid their lips on my daughter.

Some cheeky little so and so has had the nerve to declare himself my daughters first boyfriend and sealed the deal with a puckered up kiss which apparently she willingly accepted. More

The A team meets Postman Pat

Potentially the most stressful time of my day falls between eight fifty and eight fifty-five. The time most commonly referred to as drop off. 

To any non owners of school age children reading this ‘drop off’ is not the time where us tired frustrated mothers hang our beloved offspring over a cliff edge and ‘drop em off’; nor am I referring to the time I visit the bathroom for my morning constitutional. Instead ‘drop off’ obviously refers to dropping the kids off at that free childcare place we lovingly refer to as school.

 But cor blimey governor what a palava it is. 

 We drive to school which means I have signed up for a lifelong argument of arguments with the ‘locals’ as I struggle to park within a mile of the gates on a daily basis so often when running marginally late I sometimes accidentally park in non popular places (read: in front of someone’s drive/garage/car.)* So it is no wonder my heart is already pounding as I attempt to remove my children from the warmth of my car.

 I should describe the car at this point so you can get a visual.  I won’t bother telling you the make and model as true to my gender stereotype I haven’t got a bloody clue.  My car is a cross between the A team van and Postman Pat’s funmobile.  Twin boy is always incredibly proud of the fact it has six seats which means it is brilliant.  In fact he once openly mocked a father and son team as they stepped out of their two man Porsche by pointing our how small their car was and very ‘uncool’ as it lacked our four extra seats. 

Our car is red and has sliding doors; thus far I have resisted the temptation to allow the children to hang out of the doors humming the A team theme tune as I hurtle along country roads but have no doubt that one day it will happen.  But anyway, in short my car is not what one would describe as ‘inconspicious’.  It is a bloody great big people carrier!

So at 8.50 I screech into a dubious parking space and put plan drop off into action.  First I unclick the babies seat belt, whilst twin boy and girl unclick their own and hurriedly rush to my seat in order to randomly try to get in my way to prevent me safely removing bb from the car.  Twin boy often likes to turn the radio on at this point to add a bit of background music to my rising stress levels. 

With bb unbelted, I leap out of the car and crawl to the boot on my belly so the owner of the drive I have just blocked will not be able to identify me in a line up later.  Out of the boot I retrieve the buggy and spend a good five minutes trying to assemble it and usually break a couple of nails in the process.  Whilst I am busy doing this the twins take the opportunity to have a good fight in the back and usually simultaneously burst into tears.  At this point I am tempted to use my rather tremendous shouting voice but again don’t want to identify myself in any way to the owner of the drive I have just parked in front of.

Once BB is secured into buggy using a five point harness in case she suddenly learns to do acrobats and  decides to leap out without warning Istart the business of extracting the twins from the big red fun bus.  Twin boy chooses this time to hide his water bottle under one of the six seats and twin girl likes to open her lunch box to check out what mummy has put in.  In addition if she doesnt like what I have put in there is a good chance she will wail about it.

The time is rapidly approaching 8.55 and so far I have one child out of the car who doesn’t even go to school. 

As I demand for the last time for the pair of them to shift their backsides and join me on the pavement they both decide to leave the car together which basically entails pushing and shoving until they emerge red-faced and angry.  They are both then sent back into the car to retrieve lunch boxes, book bags, scooters, PE kit and various assortments of ‘modeling’ materials we have collected at home.  If he is on particularly good form twin boy likes to take this opportunity to ‘accidently’ clobber twin girl with his scooter – just for fun.

Eventually we all stand looking like a defeated army on the pavement by the car; hair ruffled, coats hanging open and arms full.  Twin boy and girl set off at haste on their scooters chasing the sound of the ringing school bell leaving me behind with a pram with a small mountain piled on top of two book bags, two PE kits, two water bottles, two lunch boxes and two boxes full of crap for the modeling table.

Luckily though with so much stuff treacherously balanced on the buggy there is no way the owner of the drive I have parked in front of will ever be able to identify me in court!

*I am not proud of this but confession is good for the soul

Nowt stranger than folk

Going on holiday this year had an interesting spin which he who helped create them and I had not foreseen before we leapt with unbridled joy onto the plane at Gatwick last week.

Usually all we bring home from holiday is a couple of bags of eye watering smelly washing, a bad mood from the inevitable row waiting for the bag to come round the conveyor, a slight hangover and a few extra pounds round the middle.

However this year we brought home an entourage of new friends and tearful memories of saying goodbye to them all. Holidaying with four (and ¾’s) year olds threw a new dynamic into our annual vacation – we got to meet and speak to everyone in our hotel. Now typically when we go away without our children we like to be anti social*.

We bury our heads in our beach reading matter and are oblivious to everyone, rather like business men on a packed London tube when a pregnant lady boards.

Twin boy and girl do not seem to have inherited this skill of blatant ignoring and instead they go out of their way to befriend everyone in the entire resort. And not only do they befriend all the other children but they ensure we get to know all the mummies and daddies as well. Putting us into situations which involve your four-year old daughter bellowing across the restaurant:

“Mummy there is Billy and Georgie, let’s sit next to them”

You are forced into the quandary of if we don’t sit there will they think us rude or if we do sit there will they feel forced to speak to us and are we in turn ruining their evening? I can just about cope sitting in close quarters with my children’s eating habits but I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else; especially when twin boy does his pea up the nose trick.

Luckily for us Billy and Georgies’ mummy and daddy were quite lovely and seemed to enjoy our company.

Leaving was so hard, seven days in an all inclusive resort and I had shared more meals with these new friends than I had some members of my family. I was nearly sobbing as I said goodbye to the children’s entertainers who had occupied twin boy all holiday.

So now back in Blighty where the weatherman keeps bleating on about the threat of snow just to add to my grumpy mood we have only our 250 photos (don’t you love digital memories – how did we survive with either a roll of 36 or 24?!?) to remember our new friends by.

Post holiday blues are definitely rife in this house.

*it is only right to point out here that actually me and he who helped create them did meet beautiful babies soon to be godparents on holiday and they are rather fabulous people. However normally we like to avoid everyone like the plague as there is nothing worse than strange holiday friends who you cant hide from.

Choosing a name

Beautiful baby has another name,

As tempted as we were to put beautiful baby on her birth certificate we did worry in case she turned out to be one of those unfortunate looking babies. Then we would have all looked daft!

I don’t believe you can have an ugly baby but odd looking ones are certainly in abundance in my town. You know the ones I mean because you always over compensate when you see them by really piling on the compliments, secretly hoping one day they will turn into swans.

Anyway I digress….

Beautiful baby is sometimes referred to as Libby-Sue, Libby because me and he who helped create them really liked the name and Sue because I believe in naming my children after individuals who have helped inspire and shape myself or the other half into the people we are today.

Beautiful baby is both incredibly lucky and inflicted at the same time; she is lucky to have taken her name from a beautiful, patient, caring woman but yet she is inflicted by the fact that she will never meet her as she lost her long battle with the demon we have come to know as Cancer one month before she was conceived. It is my hope that by allowing her name to live on through my child that my daughter will inherit some of the exquisite characteristics Sue displayed throughout all her life.

Sue protected me in a family dominated by men, teaching me that I could be anyone I wanted to be so long as I believed in myself and behaved with others in a manner that I would be happy to be treated myself. This I try to pass onto all my children in my continuous struggle to be a good mummy, admittedly I make some cracking cock-ups on the way but I am pretty sure Sue enjoys a giggle at my expense when she sees my half witted parenting skills.

Twin boy and girl were lucky enough to see their Great Aunt Sue weeks before she left us with only our memories and she clearly made an impact as they remember her clearly to the day, Twin boy remembers her as Susie whose feet he stood on and she didn’t tell him off! Again to give you a sensation of the type of lady she was, her feet were incredibly painful at this time from the Cancer that was invading her body but for the sake of a cuddle and a chat with a three year old boy she chose to ignore and not say a word.

I don’t know what happens when people die but I know that we create a place for them to live on in our hearts. For me, every day as I gaze adoringly at my beautiful baby girl I remember with a smile my aunty I always loved and respected. I am secure in knowing that all my children have a guardian angel watching over them but I just wish most days that they still had their aunty around.


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Copyright © Jane Blackmore and Northernmum, 2010-2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jane Blackmore and Northernmum with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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